Midnightcreptacrossthebrickwall.Watching.Waiting.Notknowingwhatwas comingherway.Shekeptherearsperked,hereyespeeled,herfootstepsassilentasa whisper.Why,shedidn’tknow.Allsheknewwasthatshefeltthatsomethingwasn’t right.Wonderingifshehadbeenmistaken,sheturnedbacktothesafetyofherloving houseandleapeddown,startingthejourneythroughthetallgrasstotheoldVictorian that served as her home. BeforeMidnighthadgottenfarhowever,sheturnedback.Shewasneverwrong aboutthesesortsofthings.Maybewhoeverwascomingwasjusttryingtothrowher off-guard.Well,itwouldn’twork.TherewasnowaythatMidnightwouldletsomeone outsmart her. Narrowinghereyesasshegotherselfallthewaybackupontothewornbricks, shesurveyedthesceneinfrontofherforanyonewhomightbetheintruder.Inthe mostlyemptyfield,thelong,wheat-coloredgrasswavingwiththefaintestbreezeinthe stillnighttimeair,nothingseemedoutofplaceorotherwiseamiss.ButMidnightknew thatsomethingwasgoingtohappen,shejustknewit.Shehadn’teverbeenwrong...
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